Relief
by Figures
Summary: The Wastes change you. The degree by which one changes may be almost negligible, and it may consume... And Delilah was always one for extremes.
1. Chapter 1

Delilah had the time for a cig. A centuries old cancer stick. She found this one from a pack lodged in an equally as old toilet. It smelled like shit, and looked like it had previously been covered in shit. But beggars can't be choosers.

See, Delilah had long lost her sense of dignity. She lit it, letting the toxic smoke relax her destroyed nerves.  
It tasted like shit.  
She didn't care.

'Dunno how you can stand that.' Butch frowned.  
Butch had been wrangled into her mess. They were not friends. They were allies surviving the harsh wastes together, merely tolerating each other.  
'I dunno either.' She mumbled. She sucked, and turned to exhale in his face. Butch coughed, and got up from his seat. He counted the caps on the table and collected them all for some booze. She waved her hand daintily, sarcastically, as he aimed his middle finger at her.

As he stalked off, Delilah found herself staring at the back of his head, as if he would suddenly vanish. It had been too long since she was last friends with anyone. It had been too soon since someone died for her. Clover had her pretty pink dress stained violently red with her own juices. Charon's indigestible sinew was stuck in the teeth of a mutant. Dad was rotting in the embrace of Jefferson's gaze. Clover was dead, Charon was dead, and Dad was dead. She morosely wondered how long it would take Butch to die.

'Why are you touching my jacket?'  
Her vision jerked to him, holding lukewarm whiskey. Delilah did not realise she was massaging the snake embroidery. It was not her fault he left it lazing on his seat. 'Oh, sorry, forgot I have cooties.' She sighed, drawing her finger along its slender belly.  
'You're getting shitty cig ashes in the seams. It's going to smell like you.' He chided, handing her a bottle. She thanked him, immediately cracking the cap and drinking.  
'Aw.' She hacked. Her throat protesting against her vices. 'Is that a bad thing? It'll be like a piece of me. I'll never go away.'  
Butch groaned, dismissively suggesting she go fuck herself. Delilah chuckled, before growing sullen again. That voice reminded that he was an ally, nothing more. It did not matter if her allies died.

She hated that voice. It told her what to do. It was contradictory, accusatory and venomous. She regularly did stupid shit because of it. She smoked shit now because it thought one day that it would relieve her. That voice told her that whiskey would never shut it up, and she drank the whole bottle in spite. She still could not escape its scathing words, she never could.

They sat on the balcony overlooking the Wastes well into the middle of the night. Whiskey slurred their words and numbed their bodies. Delilah stumbled around, falling into Butch when she tried to get up. He griped over her weight, struggling to carry her inside the suite. He patted his triceps, posing cockily after wrangling her onto the bed. She tried to suppress her giggles, but they came as a torrent, drowning out Butch's own cacophony. He landed near her, snorting as he calmed down.  
'You really can't handle your drink' Butch gasped, trying to breathe.  
She smiled, he returned it.

That voice carved into her mind. It tried to strangle whatever pleasure and happiness she had found. She groaned, fighting it.

She rolled to her side to position herself above him. Delilah languidly reached for his face, brushing his cheek, leaning to sloppily kiss him. It was hot and messy, her hair stuck to his sweaty features and his hands roaming her body.  
He tasted like whiskey and leather.  
She didn't care.


	2. Chapter 2

Delilah awoke with a start. Her breaths were ragged and she kept her eyes shut, lest stray tears escape. No matter what her dreams concerned, that was always a sense of dread in waking. This dread could be a passing feeling or it could be amplified to the point that she started to panic. Lately, Delilah had been having rough mornings.

Butch was woken by her jolt. Being with her for the last few weeks, he knew what was happening. He groggily sat up, wiping his chin to catch any stray drool. Delilah, beside him, clutched his other arm, attempting to regulate her breathing. He watched as she struggled every morning. He just was not sure how he could help her.

Delilah was a fucking nosebleed, he remembered how they hated each other in the Vault. Yet she was completely different now. Vault Delilah was always so sure of herself. She flaunted her intelligence, wielded her charm as a weapon. Wastes Delilah acted as if nothing ever mattered. Butch stood back as she burned bridges left and right, as she took whatever came her way and as she tried to hide from him sometimes to yell at herself. Delilah had been broken out here.

She shuddered beside him, Butch grimly stared at the back of her head. As if she would suddenly vanish. She did that sometimes, tearing off sheets and running away. She was escaping, but he wasn't sure from who. Sometimes it was obvious, Talon Company, Regulators, the Enclave. Her dreams. It hurt when he seemed to be the only possible source.

He wanted to help her. He had never seen someone so tortured. He didn't care who Delilah was now, he just wanted to give her comfort.

'It's okay.' He murmured. He could at least say that. She stared ahead, seemingly calmed down.  
They sat. He was not sure how to classify this silence. He almost could not bear it, but he knew that Delilah sometimes just needed to talk to herself quietly. He stared at her scarred back, wishing that his throbbing headache would disappear.

'I notice we're naked.' She stated bluntly. That fact had not escaped him.  
'Yeah.' He added. Despite a self-claimed 'sliver tongue', there are certain phrases you just cannot respond slickly to.  
The silence was heavy.  
'I don't know what to say.' Delilah rubbed her shoulders, he realised that she was trying to hide herself. She always got jittery before she tried to run.  
'Me neither.' Butch said sullenly. She had wrapped herself in the sheets and headed towards the bathroom.  
She looked back at him, with an almost angry expression. 'I'm having a shower.' She slammed the door behind her.

Butch sighed, frustrated. He was not to blame, was he? They both drank, sure. But she kissed him, it went on from there. They both enjoyed it, and he had never seen her so happy. He wanted to see her just forget everything, to be careless for the right reasons.

He chuckled bitterly. 'Right reasons', there was no such thing concerning sex in the Vault. It was so much simpler. If he felt like fucking Susie Mack, then he fucked Susie Mack. Worst case scenario, Daddy Mack and Wally Mack found out and tried to kill him. Big fucking deal. He could beat their asses any day.

It was just _different_ with Delilah. The consequences could be so much worse.

Butch got up and half-heartedly searched for his clothes.

* * *

**AN**

I know no one's reading this. But it's pretty obvious that I made Delilah too insane. Well, it's a lot more obvious in the part I'm working on.  
I'm working on it, for what that's worth. I'm aiming to slowly introduce her madness in the next iteration. Probably going to set it further in the past, so Butch is more like Butch and 'grows' as the story goes along.

Anyway. I'm working on it. I like writing messily, so I'm not going to give up on insane Delilah.  
And thanks if you actually have read this.


End file.
